“What were your motives in fomenting this outbreak?” asked his grace, turning to Chanlouineau. “We hoped to free ourselves from a government brought back by foreign bayonets; to free ourselves from the insolence of the nobility, and to retain the lands that are justly ours.” “Enough! You were one of the leaders of the revolt?” “One of the leaders--yes.” “Who were the others?” A faint smile flitted over the young farmer’s lips as he replied: “The others were M. Lacheneur, his son Jean, and the Marquis de Sairmeuse.” The duke bounded from his carved arm-chair. “You wretch! you rascal! you vile scoundrel!” he exclaimed, catching up a heavy inkstand that stood on the table before him. Every one supposed that he was about to hurl it at the prisoner’s head. But Chanlouineau stood perfectly unmoved in the midst of the assembly, which had been excited to the highest pitch by his startling declaration. “You questioned me,” he resumed, “and I replied. You may gag me if my answers don’t please you. If there were witnesses _for_ me as there are against me, I could prove the truth of what I say. As it is, all the prisoners here will tell you that I am speaking the truth. Is it not so, you others?” With the exception of the Baron d’Escorval, there was not one of the other prisoners who was capable of understanding the real bearing of these audacious allegations; nevertheless, they all nodded assent. “The Marquis de Sairmeuse was so truly our leader,” exclaimed the daring peasant, “that he was wounded by a sabre-thrust while fighting by my side.” The duke’s face was as purple as if he had been struck with apoplexy; and his fury almost deprived him of the power of speech. “You lie, scoundrel! you lie!” he gasped. “Send for the marquis,” said Chanlouineau, quietly, “and see whether he’s wounded or not.” A refusal on the duke’s part was bound to arouse suspicion. But what could he do? Martial had concealed his wound on the previous day, and it was now impossible to confess that he had been wounded. Fortunately for his grace, one of the commissioners relieved him of his embarrassment. “I hope, sir,” he said, “that you will not give this arrogant rebel the satisfaction he desires. The commission opposes his demand.” “Very naturally,” retorted Chanlouineau. “To-morrow my head will be off, and you think nothing will then remain to prove what I say. But, fortunately, I have other proof--material and indestructible proof--which it is beyond your power to destroy, and which will speak when my body is six feet under ground.” “What is this proof?” asked another commissioner, on whom the duke looked askance.